A Winner Is Two: Where There's Smoke
by avatarjk137
Summary: Commodore Smoker is sent on a mission by Marine HQ, only to find he's to enforce the rules in a dubious survival tournament on a private island. Will he rebel against A Winner Is Two, or play the game for the possibility of a promotion? Part of AWI2.
1. Intro

**Ugh, sorry 'bout the lateness. Here it is, all.**

**Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned within. Yah.** **Just the organization BORED, A Winner Is Two, and the contents of this story.**

**A Winner Is Two: Where There's Smoke…**

**Chapter 1**

**Two if by Sea**

He stared at the island growing on the horizon. From here, it looked like a volcano with two half-submerged arms sweeping towards him. "I don't like it," he said, discarding one of his two cigars and lighting a third.

"I know you don't, Commander," Tashigi sighed. "But we are under orders from the base."

"Screw orders," Smoker growled, sitting back in his deck chair. His truncheon dug into his back, and, not wanting to be affected by the Seastone tip, he swung it over his head and rested it on the table. He put his boots up on the metal rod for good measure. "I've had a rotten feeling ever since we passed that guy in the rowboat this morning."

"He said he was a fisherman." Tashigi was distracted, working on some paperwork under the table. It was close enough to her face that she had flipped her red-framed glasses up onto her forehead.

"He was not a fisherman!" Smoker took a deep drag from his cigars, steadying his nerves. "You saw how he was dressed!"

"Maybe everybody from his homeland dresses like that."

"He was miles and miles from land! In a rowboat!"

"Look, just forget about that guy; he really bothered me." Tashigi looked up. "Focus on the task at hand."

"Ugh… why did I ever agree to this?"

"Because if we complete this task, a promotion's all but guaranteed. And you said we'd need to climb in ranks to follow Straw Hat into the New World."

Smoker shut up. She was right, of course; the Marine higher-ups had eagerly pushed him toward this mission to get him out of their hair, but it was supposedly an extraordinarily difficult one, and no other Commodores Smoker knew had been willing to do it. Then again, no other Commodores that Smoker knew of had either a Logia-type Devil Fruit ability, or the kind of drive that he had. Trying to keep himself under control, he satisfied himself with looking at the sky and contemplating. Then, as the cliffsides of the island began to obscure the sky above, he performed some light weight training, noticing the half-submerged cave the ship sailed into. On one cave wall, a steel plate featuring a large green arrow pointing inwards had been installed, and the arrow was marked 'harbor', so it was pretty obvious which way to go. Smoker trusted the helmsman enough not to need micromanagement, and in they sailed.

The cave was tremendous and winding; Smoker's ship was a fairly large Marine battleship, but the sails didn't once brush the ceiling. Electric lighting had been installed in the ceiling and walls; it was dim, but they weren't sailing in darkness. At one point, they came across an iron portcullis, but it was being raised even as it came into view. Smoker spotted a red light next to the rising gate; as soon as it was filly raised, the light turned green. The natural winds in the cavern were at the ship's back, and it wasn't long at all before the cave opened up to an even larger underground cavern.

This had to have been the largest cave Smoker had ever seen, although he had raided a few large pirate coves in his day. A harbor of shining steel, brand-new or close to it, decorated the walls to either side of Smoker, and his crew pulled the ship up alongside one of the docks. In no time at all, they were moored and the crew was beginning to disembark.

"You're Captain Smoker, I presume?!" Smoker looked over to the far end of the harbor, only to see a man wearing some sort of bulky, high-tech armor. He looked distinguished, worldly, and dignified, with grey hair, a matching bushy mustache and beard, and an eyepatch. Behind him were some men in dark suits and sunglasses, milling about the only other ship in the bay (a futuristic-looking submersible, which surprised Smoker – he had only seen a couple of submerging ships in his life, and this one made them look primitive).

"I'm a Commodore these days, but yes, I am," the Navy officer called back. The old man whispered to one of his men, gesturing to Smoker, and to his surprise, the suit drew a pistol and took aim. Smoker only raised an eyebrow before the blast echoed throughout the cavern, a magnum bullet tearing through his head. However, the Commodore's head had dissolved into smoke on impact, and it reformed behind the bullet, now bearing a much angrier expression. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" Smoker leapt from the bow of his ship and soared towards the strangers, his entire lower body becoming a smoky cloud. In only three seconds, he had closed most of the hundred feet between them when the old man held up a hand signaling him to stop.

"I apologize, sir," he called out jovially, and Smoker reformed his legs and skidded to a stop, confused. "I knew of your powers beforehand, although not of your recent promotion, and I wanted to ensure you were the real deal. I instructed my man here to pause before firing, so you'd have enough time to react to the bullet. I had no intention of killing you… unless of course you weren't the real Commodore Smoker."

"That's awfully paranoid, but I can't deny there's some logic to it." Smoker heaved a tobacco-laden sigh. "Alright, I've given you my name. Give me yours, and I'll decide whether to shoot _you_ in the head or not."

The man laughed. "I am called Solidus Snake, and I am part of the organization known as BORED. We're the ones who requested the help of you Marines."

"BORED, eh? What does that stand for?"

"We stand for freedom and justice," Solidus replied, pointedly avoiding the question. "You just arrived, I see. Well, so did I, although two of my compatriots are already on the island. Come with me, and I'll fill you in on the details of this service you will be performing for us, while my men assist your crew in disembarking."

Smoker nodded, and turned back to his crew, taking a few steps towards the approaching Tashigi as he called out orders to her. "Tashigi! I'm going to find out what the hell's up. You're in charge until I get back. These goons are going to help us unpack; if anything unusual happens, use this." He tossed her a Baby Den-Den Mushi, a tiny snail attached to a wristwatch, and fastened the other one around his own wrist.

"You distrust me," Solidus noted as Smoker followed him into an elevator.

"You distrusted me so much you shot me to see if I was the real deal."

"I wasn't condemning you for it. Trust is worth more when one needs to work for it, don't you think?"

"I do," Smoker growled, biting down on his cigars. "What's this about?"

Solidus's eye stayed on the elevator lights. "I should start by saying that there is no situation here that requires law enforcement, not in the strictest sense of the term. This is a privately owned island, and there is technically no law here." Smoker's demeanor showed no outward change. "Rather, we made a very generous donation to your administration in order to secure an up-and-coming officer who was to be a particularly talented fighter. The marines, I can see, sent a perfect candidate."

"What's this about, then, that you need a tough marine?"

"We're holding a competition of sorts. A few dozen people are to be stranded on the island to battle to the death. The losers die forgotten, the winner goes free, and all of us BORED members pay him handsomely. The monetary equivalent for your Beris is something in the neighborhood of a billion… from each of us." Smoker's eyes widened visibly this time – that was a ludicrous sum to give away! The world's largest bounty didn't reach a billion Beris! "You're not a contestant, though. You're an Enforcer, hired to help us make sure everything proceeds according to plan. How does that sound?"

"You can eat shit!" Smoker yelled. "I don't care if you're all part of the World Nobles or any other group, you can't just go putting people in battles to the death!"

"Calm yourself, Commodore. I should have mentioned that these contestants are not just average Joes – they're criminals, people who have crossed our organization on occasion. At the very least, they're debt-ridden deadbeats who happen to be very capable at defending themselves."

"Then why give the winner freedom and riches?" The elevator dinged pleasantly and its doors opened; Smoker found himself walking with Solidus into a hallway that gave the impression of elegance, taste, and artfulness. Personally, the marine found it annoying.

"To ensure they fight each other instead of banding together against us, of course. There has to be _some _incentive for them. As for the money… we plan on broadcasting this tournament to the populace with technology the likes of which you've never seen. We'll make back every penny, plus more." Solidus stopped at a four-way intersection, turning to Smoker. "It should also interest you that we've explored the idea of a tournament before, and the man you're searching for showed some interest in the concept."

"Straw Hat?" Smoker's attention, already on the man, was re-affirmed.

"Yes, Monkey D. Luffy, as well as his first mate. Sadly, that tournament fell through, but I'm confident this one will last in history. I haven't had a chance to see the final roster of contestants yet, but there's a chance he'll show up himself."

Smoker's mind was abuzz. On the one hand, he didn't trust Solidus as far as he could throw the man (which was admittedly pretty far, with the aid of his Moku Moku no Mii), and the entire tournament seemed inherently immoral and wrong. On the other hand, if he went along with this, it would mean a promotion, and possibly the chance to catch Straw Hat right here and now. Besides, if he refused, he could blow his whole naval career and end up taking giant steps backwards from catching the elusive pirate. It was quite a dilemma.

Solidus, after a pause, had begun talking again. "You'd have your own quarters for the duration of the tournament, as well as near-unlimited access to the base and a few outposts designed especially for you and the other Enforcers. We have no need for your crew, but they're welcome to stay in the base as our guests – we have plenty of rations to last us as long as the tournament runs, thanks in part to hydroponic gardens on-site." A dark blur hurtled past them, the breeze left in its wake whipping up Smoker's jacket. He was only barely able to glimpse a figure about four feet tall creating the blur, at once like and unlike a human. "That was one of your compatriots now – Shadow the Hedgehog. You're sharing a bathroom with him, I believe. His great speed, as well as his expertise with various conventional weapons, makes him another invaluable asset to us. A bit anti-social, perhaps, but you deal with some real eccentrics when you're hiring men of talent. Speaking of… ah, Mr. Touchdown!" Smoker turned to realize another man was approaching from behind him and to the left (seemed he was standing in a major waypoint of the complex), and approaching fast, although not necessarily approaching them. Solidus waved the new arrival over, to Smoker's general dissatisfaction. "This is Commodore Smoker; he's another of the Enforcers, and he's just arrived." Smoker got halfway through muttering that he wasn't an Enforcer yet before dismissing it.

Smoker instantly realized Touchdown was sizing him up (as a threat, apparently) and took the opportunity to do so as well. He didn't seem like much – average build, average clothes (well, average by the colorful standards of Smoker's world), gelled-up hair, pale skin. He carried a metal rod on his belt large enough to be the handle for a two-handed sword – a collapsible weapon, no doubt. Smoker, finished with his assessment, looked Travis in the eye and stopped – those were undoubtedly the eyes of a stone cold killer. Smoker had seen emotionless, calculating eyes and scythe-like eyebrows like that precisely once in his life – and that was when he had, in passing, seen Rob Lucci, the government's top CP9 assassin. The one who had been an invincible slayer of armies… until Straw Hat took him down. With that look at his eyes, Smoker had to stop himself from shuddering. This man, initially appearing to him as a young punk, was another such slayer of armies. Finally Travis spoke, and the moment was gone, because only cheap trash talk spilled from his pale, thin lips. "Take a picture, why don't you. What are you Commodore of, anyway? Friends of Lung Cancer?"

Smoker growled. Whatever this guy really was, it didn't give him the right to address him that way. Smoker would probably punch out a superior who talked down to him that way, let alone some twentysomething kid who just happened to be able to fill in a strip mine with corpses. "I can't punch him, can I?"

"I'd rather you two saved your aggression," Solidus muttered impassively. "We've gone to great lengths to obtain the services of each of you for good reason, and it wouldn't do for the tournament to begin with one of you dead and the other wounded." He didn't mention which would be which, and Smoker was both further irritated and intrigued – did they intend all their Enforcers to be at his level? _Were_ they all at the level of a Logia-type user?

Travis rolled his terrifying eyes in his unimpressive sockets. "Yeah, whatever. It's been great meeting Smokey the Bear, boss, but I have to go take care of –"

"Er, Travis, could I have a word with you?" The man who called Travis was a bland-looking man in a suit and glasses, and Smoker could tell immediately something was up with this man as well. The only people who pretended to be that boring were actually very interesting, if you performed a proper background check. A quick glance at Solidus's eyes as he regarded this brown-haired man was enough for Smoker to guess that this was a man of equal rank to him. "Unless I'm interrupting something?"

"Not at all," Solidus assured him, reeking of fake cheerfulness. "I was just watching a healthy rivalry blossom between two of our Enforcers." Smoker didn't know how this Travis Touchdown felt about him, but he felt five parts scorn, one part paranoia towards the younger Enforcer… give or take.

"Well, as long as the 'healthy rivalry' doesn't blossom into 'killing each other'. Speaking of – Travis, would you walk with me?" Smoker raised an eyebrow, but as curious as he was, he doubted he'd get a direct answer on the subject of that segue.

"Sure, why not." Travis turned his back on Smoker and Solidus. "Not like I have anything else I should be doing," he said sarcastically.

"I assure you, we'll be done in ten minutes," Suit and Glasses explained, retreating down yet another winding hallway (Smoker was no longer entirely sure which of them he had come down).

"That was Mr. Ofdensen," Solidus explained brusquely. "He's a colleague of mine at BORED. A great business partner in any sort of venture. So, I assume we can count on your cooperation?" The conversation being abruptly brought home caught Smoker off-guard – he had forgotten for a moment he hadn't agreed already.

"Sure," he said gruffly, shaking Solidus's hand. "Why not?" Solidus's remaining eye narrowed in a slightly unpleasant smile as he returned the handshake.

"Excellent, just excellent. Ofdensen will be happy to iron out the contract with you later today – in the meantime, here's a keycard." Solidus deftly pulled a card from some sort of slot on his armor. It was a blue plastic rectangular affair with rounded corners. One side held a thick black stripe going the long way and some indecipherably tiny print, and the other side was marked '**BORED**' in black letters of a thick but simple typeface, accentuated only with an eight-pointed gold star inside the 'O'.

Anybody from America, where Solidus Snake was raised, would have recognized it as like a credit card. Smoker, however, was a Loguetown resident, born and raised, and came from a land where plastic money hadn't been discovered yet (to the joy of all). "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

"Ah, right, you wouldn't know how to use one. The black stripe is called a magnetic strip, although it's not much of a magnet. You slide it in and out of the matching slots around the base and any other buildings on the island, and it's automated security clearance. Just make sure to put the magnetic stripe facing the way the machine instructs you two, and you'll be let in." Solidus's face became more intense; in Smoker's professional opinion, he looked like he was trying to pass a gallstone. "Your level of clearance as an Enforcer is quite high. If you lose that card before the tournament is over, it is an emergency, and you will be paid nothing. Understood?"

"I don't plan on losing it," Smoker replied calmly.

"Good. Why don't you try using that card to explore, and get settled?"

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather check on my crew."

"You're a good leader. Backtrack to the elevators, and use the keycard next to the elevator door to summon one. There's a **'Harbor'** button on the elevator's menu inside." There was an unspoken challenge on Solidus's part for Smoker to find the elevator. Refusing to be intimidated, Smoker turned on his heel and marched away. "Not that way." Grumbling, Smoker walked back to Solidus and took the exit to the left of the one he'd originally taken.

---

When Smoker returned to the harbor, he was pleased at least to find the docking process moving smoothly. Solidus's men, Tashigi had explained, were employees or ex-employees (she wasn't totally clear) of a government the two of them had never heard of – but a big one, apparently. At any rate, they were well-disciplined and efficient, and were unloading the ship's supplies with promises to provide the crew with fresh supplies at the tournament's end. Mostly, the Marines were left to do the unloading themselves while the black suits stepped back and gave directions, but it was moving smoothly enough that Smoker gave Tashigi permission to go off and train on her own.

"I'm gonna go find my ride," Smoker muttered. "I think we can trust the soldiers on their own for something like this."

"I agree," Tashigi replied as she set up tatami mats for training. "None of them will ever proceed in the ranks if we don't give them opportunities to stand out."

Smoker grunted his approval towards her as he made his way over to the corner of the cavern that housed the most crates, hoping to find the custom vehicle he had brought there. Five minutes of searching produced nothing – most of the supplies here were construction materials, with non-perishable foods in the next grouping. Then he looked over a stack of crates and saw something that caught his eye – the largest box of all appeared to be heaving up and down. Intrigued, he made his way around, only to find a large blond man in red spandex under the colossal box, apparently using it for weight training. "What are you doing?" Smoker growled.

"Staying in shape," the man groaned. He looked up at Smoker, revealing a black mask covering his eyes and a grinning, middle-aged face. He did another lift of the box over his shoulder – despite the mass of the object, it seemed to be giving the solid bedrock beneath them more strain than it did him. "I have keycard access to two gyms, but none of them have weight settings on their exercise machines high enough for me. So I picked the biggest, heaviest crate I could find here – one minute." Amazingly, he hurled the box a few dozen feet straight into the air, jogged clear of the falling hulk, and caught it in time to soften the fall and let it down gently. "There… now I can talk to you normally."

_If that crate's even mostly full, his strength alone would be enough to make him a Commodore like me._ "That's pretty impressive," Smoker said, taking a seat on a lone, small crate nearby. "What's in that crate, anyway?"

"A prefabricated cottage, if you'll believe it. I have no idea what BORED would want with one on this island – maybe it's a bonus prize for the tournament winner, or the replica of one. Are you another of the Enforcers?"

"Yeah… yeah I am. Just got here. I'm Commodore Smoker." _He at least seems friendly enough._

"You can call me Mr. Incredible." The man offered his hand, and Smoker shook it. It was obvious from the way this man gripped Smoker's hand that he wasn't even using a full percent of his power, but Smoker gripped hard enough to make it clear he had some strength of his own. "So what're you Commodore of?"

"Marines," Smoker grunted, wondering why it wasn't obvious. He _was _wearing the signature officer's jacket (ornamented with the kanji for justice on his back). Wasn't the World Government, well, worldwide? "I'm looking for a customized vehicle I brought with me, but I haven't seen anything of the sort around here. You know where that might be?"

"Yeah, sure." One meaty arm reached out over Smoker's shoulder and to the right, pointing the way. "The garage section is kind of isolated from the rest of the floor. I know they keep all the vehicles there, and I've seen a few crates around the area too. Yours is probably one of those."

"Thanks. I'll talk to you later, Incredible."

"What was that?!" Tashigi yelled from a distance. "You broke the training set!"

_I keep telling her not to scold herself out loud…_ "Looks like I've got a detour to make," Smoker explained to the confused superhero. He set off in the direction of the shouting and was unpleasantly surprised to find Tashigi had not been talking to herself, but rather to that Touchdown asshole. As he arrived, Travis said something he didn't quite catch, but whatever it was caused her to slap him and then start apologizing. "Is he bothering you, Tashigi?" Smoker asked, taking up a seat on a nearby crate. She blushed, and he went stiff before turning around. Smoker was tempted to say, "Don't you look at me with those crazy eyes," but instead he settled for "Touchdown. Fancy meeting you again so soon."

"You! What are you doing down here?"

"I'm just here to get my ride… and keep an eye on my troops."

"Your _troops?!_ Who, the… aw, don't tell me you're in charge of these Navy goons!"

"Goons?!" Tashigi yelled angrily, eliciting a ghost of a smile from Smoker.

"I see you were just getting acquainted with my second-in-command, Officer Tashigi." Travis seemed surprised; _didn't he notice we have the same kanji on the back of our jackets?_ It then occured to Smoker that Travis, like Mr. Incredible, had only seen him from the front so far. Oh well. "It's probably relevant information for you that she's a surprisingly fierce swordsman who's dedicated her life to retrieving fine swords from amoral bastards who don't deserve them." _Like you, I'm sure._

"I was just giving her some friendly advice on technique," Travis snapped. "I'll get out of your hair now."

"I'm going your way," Smoker said calmly, leaping off the crate he had been sitting cross-legged on to land a few steps behind Travis.

When they had left earshot of Tashigi, the assassin grumbled, "Why are you tailing me?"

"You noticed." Smoker chuckled a little, a bit of a wheeze present in his voice. "It's simple – I really don't trust you."

"I'm just doing my job. I wonder, when the chips fall down, which of us will prove loyal."

Smoker's eyes narrowed as he thought about BORED. About Solidus, who greeted him with a bullet to the head and smiled sinisterly. About Ofdensen and his false dullness. About what sort of organization would own an island, profit off of death, build a base to be hard to navigate, or hire somebody like Travis Touchdown. "I don't think you understand – in some cases, loyalty doesn't make you trustworthy."

Finally, they were at the garage. Smoker noted and dismissed the standard four-wheeled vehicles; sure, they were made with more modern-looking parts than his, but his was something special.

Travis, who was trying to make small talk, found his crate first. "So I hear one of the Enforcers is getting paid in jewels, and another's trading his services for a spaceship. Some people, eh?"

I ain't getting paid," Smoker grumbled. "I'm just trying to chase a pirate. Marine Headquarters doesn't want people at my rank going after him, anymore, because he's supposedly so dangerous and because of the territory he's sailing into." He snorted. "Monkey D. Luffy, destroying Enies Lobby! I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen him take down one of the Shichibukai! Anyway, I need to gain rank – and fast – to chase him. HQ sent down a mission to come here as an Enforcer, and there was an implication that a successful return means a promotion, so I came. Hopefully, I'll be a Vice Admiral upon return." By now, Smoker had found the crate marked with the Marine symbol (A stylized blue seagull on a white background) and his name, and was prying at the lid with his truncheon. "But so far, I've met untrustworthy leadership and the others holding my rank in this tournament range from apparently trustworthy to **you**. And I have to share my bathroom with a spiky black rat wearing just gloves and shoes. I've seen some crazy shit in my life, but that's pretty weird. Luckily, he isn't around much."

Travis had apparently been listening less and less, but at the word "bathroom" he perked up and related a story about killing somebody this morning for attacking him out of the blue. To be frank, Smoker found it pretty hard to believe. "So Ofdensen got some of his old co-workers to dispose of the body. Some disciplinary tactic, huh? Jackpot!" he had just gotten his crate open, apparently bare-handed despite having to wrench out some rather large nails. As soon as he did, he was practically bowled over by a wave of strange pellets that Smoker guessed were for cushioning the vehicle during travel (he was right, impressive considering the World Government's technology did not include styrofoam). "My Schpeltiger!" Smoker watched in mild interest as the borderline-psychotic Enforcer dragged a huge white motorcycle (if you could call it that) from the crate and its pellets and leaned on it with a cocky smirk. "Impressive, huh?"

"It looks like just a glorified scooter," Smoker criticized with a frown. "Big, though, I'll give it that."

"Not just big – powerful." Admiring the vehicle, Travis went into a rant about the vehicle. Instead of listening to the whole thing, Smoker finished prying the door off the box holding his ATV. Meanwhile, Travis rattled off the stats like he was reading from a catalog, including some that seemed dubious. "I'll be plowing down any trees I don't care to go around," he finished.

"That seems unlikely, given how much smaller the front wheel is than the back."

"It's big enough. I used to try it out on the palm trees in town, just to see if it'd work."

Smoker sighed, pulling his own vehicle out with one hand. "Like you, it's about as subtle as a Buster Call." He finished producing a chrome green three-wheeled ATV from his own crate – the one-of-a-kind Moku-Powered Bike, or as Tashigi had affectionately nicknamed it, the Smog Hog. The name caught on, and now all of Smoker's men and even Smoker called it that.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Travis yelled, perplexed and angry.

Smoker sighed and pointed to his vehicle; it had a front end and seat similar to an old antique motorcycle, strange plugs on the footpads, four exhaust pipes lined up horizontally behind the seat, and two larger back wheels with thick rubber tires. The engine must have been housed in the casing beneath the seat – it couldn't have been very large. The paint job was similar to his hair color. In summary, a much more understated vehicle than Travis's. "This thing has a very measurable top speed of sixty-five kilometers per hour, but it's comfortable, very durable – I didn't have to ship it in pellets, after all – turns well, runs on not only any terrain but across water and up inclines as sharp as seventy degrees, and runs on my own unique powers, so it never runs out of fuel as long as I'm conscious and can't be driven by anybody else."

"And what power would that be?" Travis asked with a sort of standoffish curiosity.

"Raise your voice at me again and I just might show you." The commodore blew a surprisingly large amount of smoke out of his nose, wondering if Travis would get the hint. "Oh… and watch out for the old man behind you."

"What old man?!" Travis turned around and found himself face to face with an elderly, white-bearded man, standing within arm's length of him and leaning in even further. "YAH!" He stumbled back, causing Smoker to chuckle again under his breath. "Hey, I know you. You're Joruus C'Baoth, the guy I'm sharing my bathroom with. If this is about the dead body in the shower… sorry. It was self-defense." Maybe the story was true after all.

The old guy looked scornful, which didn't surprise Smoker until he realized the scorn was only directed at him – he was kind, even subtly brown-nosing towards Travis. "It was an unpleasant shock, I admit, but you struck down that man with ease. He ambushed you in such an underhanded manner, but… you don't have a scratch on you, do you?"

_At least Touchdown seems uncomfortable with it,_ Smoker thought with another chuckle. He leaped onto his vehicle and revved it, producing a cloud of white smoke from the exhaust ports as it drew upon his Moku Moku no Mii power. The revving noise wasn't as loud as the Schpeltiger's, but that suited Smoker just fine. "I'm going out for a ride. You two have fun getting to know each other. Oh, and Touchdown… I've got my eye on you." Seeing a sign pointing the way to the vehicle elevator, Smoker guessed he was supposed to drive to that and headed off that way, not bothering to wait for Travis or that Joruus geezer to respond. _This assignment should, at the very least, keep my mind off Straw Hat while I get closer to being able to catch him._

**End of Chapter**

**You'll notice a bunch of scenes that are the same as the ones in my Touchdown entry, but different. Those are from Smoker's point of view this time, and since Smoker and Travis don't always listen to everything the other says, you might not hear the whole conversation if you don't read both.**

**Sorry to anybody who beats Smoker, but that vehicle (which I don't have a ref for beyond the information in this chapter, because it comes from the Grand Battle and Grand Adventure video games rather than the original anime and manga) is useless for them unless they can copy powers. His truncheon would be perfectly servicable, though, even against him (in fact, it's made with Seastone and is probably one of the best ways on the island to harm or stun him).  
**


	2. First Intermission

**Bleah. This took me a long time, probably because it's kind of boring. Still, challenging Anwar galvanized me into finishing it. GALVANIZED I say! Anyway, it bridges the story from Smoker's leaving Travis and Joruus to having to fight Anwar, weeks later. Also, in-jokes for fans of One Piece, Metalocalypse and other canons, not to mention in-jokes for people who have been following all the tournament's fights.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters here. No, really, none of them.** **I only own the contents of this story.**

**A Winner Is Two: Where There's Smoke…**

**Intermission**

**Doubts**

Smoker reached the top of one of the lit pathways out of the mountain, his smog hog roaring away, only to find it closed off with a set of blast doors. He grumbled until he noticed a keycard slot in the wall with a sign that read 'SILVER CLEARANCE OR HIGHER' in very clear lettering. Swinging his leg around to step off the bike (and making a mental note that using his smoke form to 'ghost' off the bike was something he should get into the habit of), he approached the keycard, only to be stopped by the soft clearing of a throat behind him.

He whirled in place, only to notice Ofdensen standing in the mouth of a side path, apparently a lit tunnel that lead back to the rest of the base. He was clutching a briefcase. "Solidus told me you agreed to becoming an Enforcer," he said flatly. "I have a contract drawn up to make it official – you wouldn't mind coming with me to the closest office to sign, would you? It shouldn't take more than ten minutes."

Smoker sighed and grabbed his vehicle gently but firmly in both hands, carrying it to the side of the underground road so it would be easily avoided. "Why not? It's not like I have a choice, do I?"

"No, not really." Ofdensen turned and strode confidently down the way he had come; he walked surprisingly quickly, but Smoker was taller and didn't have any trouble keeping up. After about forty-five seconds of walking through the tunnels, they emerged back into a more complete-looking section of the base. Another minute and a half led them to a room Ofdensen seemed satisfied with; it turned out to be a small office with all the standard accouterments – desk, chair behind the desk, chair in front of the desk, fluorescent lighting, cabinet, computer, plastic plant (actually, it was made of steel, and it was a slightly abstract sculpture of what was probably a cactus). There was a window, but it looked out on only dark smoke lit with a hellish glow. "This office currently isn't being used for anything, but that, uh, doesn't matter – I have the pen and the contract right here." Ofdensen took a seat behind the desk, produced said contract from the briefcase, and passed it to Smoker, who looked it over.

"I, Captain Chaser – what the fuck is this?" Smoker handed the document right back. "Who's Captain Chaser?"

"I'm sorry, you were apparently still a Captain when they first told us they were sending you. As for the name… that's the name we got in the mail, I don't fully understand what –"

"Chaser? Seriously? I've made it my mission for months now to chase a guy. Chasing, chasing, all the time…" Smoker took his cigar out of his mouth to gesture menacingly with it for a moment. "Chasing is practically the action that DEFINES me! Can you imagine if I was named something as obvious as Chaser?!"

Ofdensen just stared and quirked an eyebrow for a few seconds before recovering. "Yes, I'm sorry, that error never should have gotten this far. Of course you would _never_ be named something so obvious." He briefly revised it with a red pen, and handed it back to Smoker. "The contract basically says that you honor your pledge to assist us with this tournament to your utmost capacity as a skilled combatant, and in return, we honor our pledge to donate money to Marine Headquarters – they mentioned repairs to an 'Enies Lobby' and an 'Impel Down' – and to give a generous review of your performance to the same."

"So… you're just _telling_ me you're going to give me a recommendation?" _This isn't getting any less fishy…_

"Well, as long as you don't give us trouble to the extent of breaching the contract… yes. That's what we're evaluating on – your ability to do the job we give you." Ofdensen gestured with the pen, which Smoker idly noticed he was using left-handed, to an article lower down that he had just been getting to. "This article here stipulates that we're going to provide decent quality food and shelter to your crew as pertaining to-"

"I can read."

"Uh, sorry."

Smoker grunted and got back to the contract. Okay, so it was fairly complicated, and there were a few words he hadn't learned at the officer's academy. He got the gist of it, and nothing in there seemed especially suspicious. Ofdensen himself was suspicious as hell, but that couldn't be helped. "Alright, it seems fine," he finally admitted.

"Excellent. Sign at the bottom." The executive flipped the pen around easily in his hand before handing it to Smoker, like a warlord flipping a sword to present it to his new charge hilt-first. Smoker took the pen, buried his doubts one last time, and signed.

"Can I go now?"

---

"And that was weeks ago." Smoker sat in his outpost with Tashigi, whom he was sharing a beer with. This particular outpost was a low concrete structure built into the western slope of the mountain, towards its upper reaches where the trees were mostly coniferous. Smoker hadn't modified it since he first parked his ATV in its garage, except by slowly clearing out the minibar and imbuing it with a permanent smell of tobacco. "It's been fucking _dull,_ except for when they had me out on that grab-a-contestant mission and when they had me check out that monster. At first I patrolled around a lot, but now that it's the rainy season, I only do it when the cabin fever gets to me. No sign of Nero or that thing, either."

"It's killed a couple of the contestants," Tashigi responded. "I saw the footage on some fancy monitoring equipment they have in the base." She shuddered. "It's _breeding…_ and those black-hooded soldiers working at the base treat it like it's cute. They've started calling it Ginger, because they figure it must be a girl, since it… spawns."

"How many babies so far?"

"Two… but it makes them by laying eggs down people's THROAT."

Smoker's eyes narrowed, and he looked toward the window. Nothing but rain pouring down behind bulletproof glass. "Fuck…have any of the other Enforcers seen action?"

"Shadow beat some creature only a little more human than Ginger, but he only thought he had killed it. That guy in the mask – Kakashi – he had more luck fighting some mad clown. That's one death I'm glad to see, personally."

"Buggy?"

"No, I'd never heard of this guy before, but he was a lot scarier than Buggy, even without a Devil's Fruit power. And Mystique – she's a shapeshifting woman, she seems competent but untrustworthy – got taken down by some egg-shaped guy who kind of snapped. I'm pretty sure she's alive and stalking him, though."

Smoker nodded, mulling all this over. "Any sign of Straw Hat on the island?" he asked hopefully.

"Sir… I'm going to level with you here." Tashigi took another drink of her beer. "Not one of these contestants is even technically a pirate. They've only let me see the records of the contestants who died, and most of them are criminals, but there's no pirates, and certainly no Straw Hat."

"That's alright. I knew that was a long shot when I signed. Have you been keeping an eye on the BORED members?"

"Yeah. Sakyo definitely can't be trusted – he reminds me of Sir Crocodile, if maybe a little less threatening. In fact, all three of them are schemer types. The thing is, Ofdensen seems like he just wants to keep things running smoothly. Sakyo's clearly only in it for himself, and Solidus acts like he has some faraway goal that's above it all."

"Thanks. It's not too rough hanging around the headquarters?" Questions like this were the most direct indication Tashigi ever got that Smoker cared about her well-being.

"It's not so bad. The others are there, most of the Enforcers are gone, and the BORED members are pretty careful not to reveal that they don't think much of me. Solidus said I can kick the ass of any employee who harasses me, and I've only had to a couple of times. I'm more worried about you stuck here with no human contact." And she was. Aside from the dangerous contestants and questionable Enforcers, Tashigi had heard stories about the Logia-empowered… how, when living as hermits, some had simply dissipated into their element and gone to a different plane of consciousness… and Smoker had told her firsthand that Logia users who lived in solitude often seemed to lose their humanity.

"I'm fine. I just feel cooped up with this rain…" he looked outside. "It seems to finally be letting up a little."

"Yeah." Her gaze traveled from her empty glass, to Smoker's, to the six-pack they had cleared out together, and back down into what she could see of the table through the bottom of her glass. "I should get back to the base."

"I'll walk you," Smoker said, shifting a cigar across his mouth with only his lips and tongue. "I think I'll go patrol after this if it doesn't start pouring."

---

Colonel Jade Curtiss, according to Ofdensen, was a multitalented individual.

In addition to being a powerful mage, surprisingly physically strong, and a necromancer (although BORED had seen no actual raising of the dead to back up this last claim), Jade was surprisingly good with communications technology, and competent at coordinating a team of people. Most importantly, he wasn't a sociopath, which seemed to place him in the minority on BORED's payroll. It certainly placed him in his current seat, in a dark room in front of a series of computer screens. While the other Enforcers had set out to outposts, Jade had been kept at HQ to coordinate them as a communications expert. Hardly the best use of his talents, but he couldn't argue with anything that kept him here in one of the cushiest seats on the island, instead of out killing people in the rain.

His fingers danced across a keyboard, and multiple clips of a specific contestant danced across the array of monitors. Anwar, Desert Swordsman had managed to pick his battles since arriving – and he had picked not having any battles at all, it seemed. Well, that wasn't very good television, according to the instruction booklet Ofdensen had left him. If people wanted to just watch men surviving in the wild, there were a number of shows they could watch already – one of which apparently starred a Bear. Fascinating.

Sighing, Jade picked up the microphone, and tapped in another quick sequence of keys. A mile or so to the south, Travis Touchdown's cell phone began to ring. _"Talk to me,"_ Travis said, and Jade heard it through a surround-sound system that seemed an unnecessary expense.

"It's Jade."

"_I know – nobody else can reach me while the fucking shield's up, not even that one contestant who also brought a cell phone."_

"That's actually related to why I called – we need you to go out there and hunt down a man who's been avoiding fights. He's a swordsman, so he seemed right up your alley."

"_This is kind of embarrassing, but… could you call somebody else? My swords don't work in the rain."_

Jade faked a reassuring smile, forgetting that the video feed was only on his end. It wasn't actually very reassuring anyway. "Sure, Travis, no problem. Smoker's closer anyway."

"_Thanks. I'm out."_ Jade watched as Travis hung up and got back to watching his… well, he decided to change the channel and give Travis some private time.

"When the time comes to gather up the bodies, he'll just have to do that instead," Jade said cheerfully as he contacted Smoker.

**End Intermission**

**Why are they gathering the corpses? Well, wouldn't you? Even if you aren't mailing the bodies home to their beloveds, Nathan and Alex are both infected by superviruses and Bowser has been known to return from the dead under various sets of circumstances. Sounds like you might want to keep an eye on those corpses.  
**

**Next: Smoker fights Anwar, Desert Swordsman. Except they're not in a desert. That'll be up in a little less than a week.  
**


	3. Battle One

**Okay, so this is my first actual battle in the tournament. I challenged the last Contestant remaining with no battles recorded. I plan to continue hunting dormant characters, especially those belonging to authors with two surviving characters, so beware! Beware I say!**

**Uh, yeah. I think this one turned out a little sloppy, but it should be sufficient. And if not... I too have a pair of characters.  
**

**A Winner Is Two: Where There's Smoke…**

**First Battle**

**When it Rains, it Pours**

The purple-haired youth sat on the roots of a tree and sullenly watched the water flow. He had been busy, it seemed, since arriving on the island; several pieces of wood, apparently from a fallen log, had been driven into the tree trunk above his head, and broad leaves had been thickly laid atop this and nailed down with smaller bits of sharpened wood. The result was a sort of curved awning that kept the spot dry; the spot itself being a natural cradle in the exposed roots that looked relatively comfortable and was a few inches off the ground. It was in this spot that his golden eyes scowled out into the forest, staring through the drizzling rain and into the monsoon-swollen stream mere yards in front of him. Next to him a large and ornate broadsword rested in an equally ornate indigo scabbard.

To be frank, Anwar – this guy matched the description Smoker had been given of Anwar – was about what the commodore had been expecting. A young, angry-eyed man with tan skin and clothing that would seem outlandishly bright in many worlds – that was almost a stereotypical description of one of the kinds of pirate Smoker often arrested. They were the type of pirate who weren't all bad, and Smoker didn't love arresting them, but they tended to cause disorder and unrest, so he didn't hate it either. Most of them, if they hadn't gotten a bounty yet, could even be persuaded to join the Marines after a few nights in jail and a few sharp blows to the head. Monkey D. Luffy had been this type of pirate, although he had already had thirty million Beris on his head when Smoker met him.

'Find Anwar and force him to take action, by any means necessary.' Those had been the orders Jade had relayed to Smoker. There was a lot of space for interpretation there, but Smoker guessed all the interpretations would involve Anwar drawing that sword, probably against him. _No reason to get fancy here. He only has a sword. I shouldn't be able to lose this fight._ Smoker dissipated and reformed on a low, thick tree limb, drawing his truncheon. "Desert Swordsman Anwar, I take it," Smoker said, trying to look imposing with the wet weather soaking his hair to his scalp and causing his pair of cigars to gutter.

The youth looked surprised to see him, if not happy. "You're the first of the ones here to know my name," he replied. "Go away; I'm only interested in fighting the men who took me here. They wear black jackets, shoes, pants, and ties, white shirts, and dark glasses. You seen them around here?"

_Sounds like Solidus's goons…_ "You're looking for the people who run this tournament."

"Yeah." Anwar nodded curtly, still not drawing his weapon. "As soon as this rain lets up, I'm gonna go back to searching. Until then, I'm resting here, so if you don't mind…"

"Actually, I have a problem with that." Smoker leapt to the ground without dissipating, landing between Anwar and the rushing stream. "You see, the people who run this tournament hired me and a few others to make sure punks like _you_ are fighting each other instead of them."

Now Anwar's hand clutched the hilt of his sword, but he still didn't draw it. "That's really too bad, because I want to fight _them._"

Despite the roar of the stream and the patter of the rain, Smoker's words carried clearly. "Bad idea. You can fight them, but you have to go through a few people first, starting with me."

Anwar drew his blade, got to a standing position, and charged forward all in the space of a second. "Fine by me!" he roared, bringing his blade down in a two-handed swing.

Unfortunately for him, Smoker had his weapon already out – and it was a jitte, designed with catching blades in mind. Smoker wrapped the two rods of his weapon around Anwar's blade and twisted, expecting to either break the weapon or pull it from Anwar's grip. Both the sword and the grip were unexpectedly strong, and Anwar's entire body was instead rotated around the spot where their weapons clashed, his boots sliding in the mud. Anwar was visibly almost as surprised at Smoker's strength as Smoker was at Anwar's, but the desert-dweller recovered first and backhanded Smoker with his nearer hand, repelling the marine.

Smoker stumbled back only a step before recovering, and swung out with his jitte in a wide backhand. Anwar ducked and prepared to counterattack, but it was his turn to be surprised when Smoker's free hand came up and struck his chin with the force of what felt like a charging bull. The attack left Anwar flat on his back, and before he could even refocus his vision the muddy tread of a marine boot pressed down on his chest. Smoker stared down the swordsman and placed his other foot on his foe's sword hand. "I thought there'd be more to you than that, kid." One of Smoker's cigars finally went out completely, and he debated internally whether he could split his focus toward trying to relight it.

"Oh, there's much more," Anwar growled, grabbing the tip of Smoker's truncheon even as it was pointed menacingly at his face. Smoker scowled more deeply and tried to dig his boot heel into Anwar's chest, but found that no distribution of his weight seemed to cause any real discomfort. The boy was tough. Anwar successfully jerked Smoker's weapon forward and rolled with it, yanking his own sword free and bowling Smoker over with him in the process. The two rolled, and Anwar came up first, bringing the toe of his boot into Smoker's face as he was just starting to get up. Smoker lost his weapon (and worse, his cigars!) and rolled backwards into the stream; luckily for him, it was fresh water instead of the seawater he was used to, and he found himself able to move to enough of a degree to grab a loose branch conveniently sticking out over the water a few dozen feet down.

"Bastard!" Smoker coughed, hauling himself out. Anwar eyed Smoker cautiously, placing himself a good distance in front of Smoker's jitte with his sword at the ready. Smoker drew a new pair of cigars from his jacket, but found he was soaked to the core and they were impossible to light. Shouting in wordless fury, he stuck them back in his jacket and turned a squinty pair of eyes on Anwar. "Here's how it's going down!" he shouted. "I'm going to beat you up! I'm going to return the favor and dump you down this river!" to emphasize this point, he tore out the loose branch and hurled it off in a random direction – it would not be saving any more people. "And then I'm going back to my base to light up some dry cigars and stand in front of that fancy heater!" With that, he started stomping toward the younger fighter.

Anwar called something back, but it was drowned out as the rain suddenly tripled in intensity. Trails of white steam began to leak from Smoker's body as he approached. Initially he hadn't bothered to use his power, underestimating his foe. This time, there would be no holding back, no getting cocky, no playing fair. It was just World of Pain – Population: Anwar.

---

Anwar squinted into the distance as it really began to pour. The rain, with its new intensity, made it difficult to see or hear anything at all. Maybe it was obvious, with the moniker of Desert Swordsman, but Anwar really didn't like fighting in the rain. He could barely even see the strange warrior's silhouette at this point. Anwar gripped his blade tighter as the silhouette raised its arm as if to punch, but he wasn't too worried. Maybe the smoker would close the distance quickly, but he couldn't possibly strike from all the way over there… they were separated by a good ten meters still.

It took one second for Anwar to realize how wrong he was. That second contained what was unmistakably a fist crashing into his cheek, below his right eye, although the silhouette stayed far out of sword reach. Maybe this man was a wizard as well as a physical fighter? If this was true, he'd be in for a rough afternoon.

Anwar staggered back, but remained on his feet, and he felt the fist pull back as the silhouette made a motion to punch again. This time, he was ready, and the fist sailed right into the flat of his blade. On impact, it scattered into a plume of foul-smelling smoke – apparently it was just an illusion. Encouraged, he charged forward with all the speed he could muster, and the smoking man (who had recovered his weapon) came into view. This description had become accurate on several levels – now the man's whole body was framed in smoke. Nevertheless, Anwar ducked under the wide swing of the man's truncheon and slashed at him. The man disintegrated into smoke – apparently this had been an illusion as well. Where was he?

"Show yourself, illusionist!" Anwar shouted, glaring around. The pounding rain pushed his voice down and out of the air, and he got no answer except the splatter of rain on volcanic soil. Suddenly, he felt a hand close around the back of his neck, and before he could react he had been lifted from the ground and swung around like a toy on a string. Face-up in the air, he was unable to see the assailant who whipped him around and tossed him into a tree trunk – and when he was released, he was too short of breath to immediately get up.

"You ruined my smokes," the man growled through the rain, and another extended fist shot out. This one missed Anwar and buried itself on the tree trunk just above him, and Anwar understood. It was a solid fist at the end of an arm made of white vapor. This man was not creating illusions from smoke – this man was smoke itself! This would be a challenge indeed to overcome! "White Snake!" the man suddenly yelled, and the arm retracted, only to return; this time, the hand had expanded into a much larger, smoky mitt. Anwar tried to dodge, but he was still winded, and had only made it halfway to his feet before the huge arm grabbed him.

"Let me go, you bastard!" Anwar yelled, struggling, but it was like being surrounded with foam-coated concrete: it seemed to give pretty far under pressure, but somewhere in the cloud was something solid and impervious. He found himself completely unable to struggle free as the arm dragged him toward the face of its owner. The grey-green-haired man regarded Anwar with an air of what seemed to be extreme annoyance, and then tossed Anwar into the air, his other arm expanding into a match for the one that had held the swordsman.

Anwar tumbled through the air, one hand still clutching his huge blade and trying to keep it between him and his opponent. He wasn't having much luck. One of the soldier's giant smoke arms smashed into his shoulder with the force of a cannonball, and he had to wildly slash through a branch to prevent him from impaling himself on it. Another blow struck him sideways, and Anwar was pressed into a tree trunk. He pushed himself clear before the next punch, but the other arm got him and the force of the punch wrapped him around a thick branch. Gasping, Anwar hung on for dear life and watched dully as the 'hand' wrapped around the branch and began to pull, forcing the branch down. It was already too late when the swordsman realized what was happening.

---

_Got you now._ Smoker let go of the branch, and Anwar sailed into the gray sky, headed down the mountain. He retracted his arms into a solid state and clapped his hands together to brush them off. Sighing, Smoker turned to return to the Blower Bike he'd hidden a couple of hundred feet away, when his Baby Den Den Mushi started to ring. Surprised, the commodore pressed a button on the small wristband-mounted mollusk, and Jade Curtiss's voice came out of the snail's lips crisp and clear.

"Smoker, I saw the fight. Good work out there, but we need you to go down there and finish the punk off."

"I don't kill," Smoker growled into the device. A wondrous thing, Baby Den Den Mushi; they were tremendously effective as the Marine's equivalent to walky-talkies. Smoker's world had developed long-range communication a bit differently than most worlds, choosing to go the path of bionically enhancing telepathic snails to act as their two-way radios, phones, fax machines, wiretaps, and even video cameras. "I beat that guy senseless, and now I'm going to go grab a smoke."

Jade said something that was drowned out by a peal of distant thunder, and Smoker had to make him repeat it. "I said 'fine, but at least go find him and confirm his status.' You really should listen carefully to mission parameters in the future."

"Alright, I'll go make sure I knocked him out." Smoker almost cut off the communication, but stopped. "I thought Tashigi and my ship had the only other Den Den Mushi on the island."

"I took a look at Officer Tashigi's, and I was able to jury-rig a communication spell for interacting with yours. It took a couple of hours, but it was an interesting challenge. Curtiss out." The Mushi went dormant as the communication cut off.

"Weirdo," Smoker grumbled as he stalked toward his bike. From him, that was a compliment.

---

Jade tapped in a long set of commands. This connection was to another device that was utterly incompatible with the computer's communication (every Enforcer seemed to insist on his own method), but instead of magic, Jade had simply called in a tech support guy for this one. Joruus's scowling, bearded face soon appeared on the screen, no doubt at the same time a miniature hologram of Jade himself appeared in Joruus's palm above the disc. "What is it?" Joruus asked, going wild-eyed for an instant before composing himself.

"Commodore Smoker is showing a surprising reluctance to kill his foe."

"I told you all he was too soft for this job!" (Joruus had, in fact, only made this claim about Mr. Incredible, and not to Jade.) "They should have listened to me and hired only the Force-sensitive for this task. He'll ruin everything!"

"Not if your battle meditation is applied judiciously," Jade said calmingly, wearing his eternal smile. "Smoker is strong-willed, and could prove a difficult case, but his foe is all but defeated. He won't have the willpower to resist."

"You're saying I should make things harder for that poison-inhaling fool?"

"I'm saying you should make it difficult for Commodore Smoker to spare Anwar."

Joruus nodded. "They had better be giving me a damn good spaceship…"

"One of the contestants crashed a spaceship in the forest. I think Ofdensen's planning on fixing that one up and giving it to you."

The old man visibly brightened. "Well, I'll have to go find it later."

---

It didn't take long to find Anwar, especially since the rain had lessened to the point where visibility was no longer an issue. He was crumpled against a tree trunk near the base of the mountain, surrounded by thin branches that had snapped when he fell through them. Cuts and bruises riddled his skin, and his clothes were slashed open all over, but he was alive and conscious, and _still_ clutching his sword. Smoker was honestly impressed.

His head lolled over and his eyes fixed dazedly on Smoker, then they snapped open fully. "No way… no…" He rolled out of the pile of dislodged branches and, using his sword as a crutch, managed to pull himself to his feet. "I give… I give… I admit it… I have no idea how to fight a man made of smoke."

"Good." Smoker reached to grab his cigars between his fingers before realizing he didn't have them. Damn. "Now, I hope you realize, punk, that if you want to get off this island, you have to fight your competitors, and you have to damn well win. Because fighting the organization is a very scary alternative." He cracked a horrible expression that was probably an attempt at a smile. "I'm only the tip of the goddamn iceberg."

"I got it…" Anwar coughed and made it to his feet, leaning back against the tree. "It's just… there's this girl…" he gritted his teeth, visibly fighting back tears.

Smoker sighed, leaning on the handlebars of his bike. _I __**really**__ need my cigars…_

"And BORED… you guys… you've kidnapped her…"

_Shit, really? I knew these guys couldn't be trusted, but this is seriously pushing the envelope._

He stood up straight, stumbling a bit, and gripped his sword tighter. "You've kidnapped her… just like that… and now you expect me not to fight you?!"

Smoker's eyes widened. Something was wrong. _I haven't felt a spike in haki like that in a very long time._ His hand darted to his truncheon.

He very nearly wasn't fast enough. "I'll show you bastards what happens when you mess with me!" Anwar ran forward, carrying his weight on torn skin and muscles, and slashed downward. Even blocked, the force of his blow sent Smoker sprawling off the ATV.

"What the hell happened to 'I give?!'" Smoker kicked out, catching Anwar in the stomach, but the swordsman shrugged the blow off like just another raindrop. Leaping over the seat of the ATV, Anwar drove his sword point-down toward Smoker's heart. Smoker quickly rolled out of harm's way, and came up facing the wrong way. Turning the disadvantage into an opportunity, he extended his truncheon as he spun round, striking Anwar in the jaw hard enough to dislodge several teeth. This barely slowed Anwar down, and Smoker 'ghosted' several steps back, taking the chance to catch his breath.

The swordsman was completely unrecognizable, and not just because blood was trickling out of his mouth. He gripped his sword less like an experienced swordsman than like a lunatic with a sharp stick. His eyes danced with madness and rage. With a wordless, gurgling roar, he leapt forward. Smoker brought up his weapon to block, but he also tried to become intangible by dissolving into smoke.

It didn't work.

Smoker screamed as Anwar's broadsword pushed his truncheon down and out of the way, continuing on to cut into his left shoulder. Anwar screamed because… well, he was just screaming. Gathering his thoughts, Smoker balled his numbing left hand into a fist and drove it into Anwar's ribs, eliciting a loud crack. Anwar backed off just enough that Smoker was able to push the blade up and back with his truncheon. Anwar stumbled back, but immediately charged forward with another roar.

"White Trip!" Smoker growled, launching out his undamaged hand, and his weapon, on a plume of smoke. He launched it low and swung it laterally, and his jitte caught Anwar in the ankles, sweeping him onto his back. Anwar scrabbled around on the wet ground as Smoker pulled his arm back, and managed to slide backwards so his head and shoulders were a few short feet from Smoker. Yelling incoherently, he managed to swing his sword horizontally at Smoker's waist.

"You're mine!" This time, Smoker was able to catch the blow between the tines of his jitte, and flat on his back, Anwar had nothing to push against. The commodore twisted his forked weapon, and the blade flipped right out of Anwar's hand, flopping uselessly to the ground. It hadn't been so easy earlier - but then, Anwar hadn't been gripped in a berserker rage earlier. Anwar ignored the sword as he got up, moving instead to attack bare-handed. "What's wrong with you, kid?!" Smoker had been caught off-guard by being actually wounded for the first time in years, but he was still able to step around Anwar's flurry of clumsy blows the old fashioned way.

"I… will… KILL YOU!" Anwar swung around, trying to get at Smoker with little success. Smoker grabbed Anwar's wrist, and while the youth struggled, the naval officer spun him back around and slipped his arms under his foe's armpits. From there, it was a simple manner of hoisting him a few inches into the air and holding an end of the truncheon in each hand, pressing it against Anwar's windpipe. Cut off from air, Anwar's struggles would slow and finally cease altogether, and Smoker could find him a nice, dark cell.

In theory, anyway. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Anwar screamed.

"Stop struggling, punk, I'm not in your head!" Smoker screamed back. Screaming until the veins in one's neck bulged was a language Smoker was fairly fluent in.

"Not you…" Anwar moaned, his body writhing like a can of worms in Smoker's iron grip.

"Who, then?! Stop struggling, you'll just hurt yourself more!"

"Some crazy old greybeard! AAHH! IT HURTS!" Anwar thrashed more and more wildly.

"Stop it!" Smoker roared, but it was too late.

_Snap_. Anwar went limp. Very limp. Too limp.

Smoker carefully relaxed his grip, and the sack of potatoes that had been his opponent dropped to the ground. Shaking, he leaned down and checked for a pulse. There was none. Anwar's neck was bent at a sick angle – he had broken his own neck on Smoker's truncheon with all his wild movement.

Smoker became aware of how badly he was shaking, and tried to stop, but to no avail. He fell back, dully aware of the wet mud seeping into his pants.

Despite his rough nature, Smoker came from a different place. A place where you can rise to the rank of Commodore and become a Marine war hero for accomplishments in pitched combat without killing anybody. He had made lots of arrests, yes, and knowingly sent men off to life imprisonment or execution, but he had never ever killed before. Subduing the foe had always been enough.

Now Smoker had blood on his hands, and he was having a harder and harder time believing it was the blood of a criminal. BORED had just forced some poor swordsman to fight by kidnapping his girlfriend. And then when he tried to say 'uncle', they forced him to fight in the most literal way. Smoker only knew one crazy old greybeard on the island – the wild-eyed old man who had confronted him and Travis in the hangar. He was an Enforcer, and he was manipulating the minds of contestants to make them fight.

And Smoker was working willingly for these same men who employed the old manipulator. He had signed a contract to do whatever they wanted, and all for a stupid promotion. In a military whose top brass he had, not a year ago, told to "eat shit." That seemed so long ago now. "What am I doing?" he asked himself hoarsely.

---

_Well,_ mused Jade,_ that could have gone more cleanly._

Not killing Anwar itself. That had been pretty bloodless, as a matter of fact. No, the problem was how much he had said before he died, and the effect it was having on Smoker. Even now the Marine Commodore sat in the mud and the rain and alternated between clutching his head and staring at his hands, not sure what to do with them.

_Sloppy. Very sloppy._

**End of Chapter**

**Q: Why was Anwar able to stop Smoker from going intangible near the end?**

**A: Anwar was using Haki, a term that's been in more recent One Piece. Basically, powerful enough fighting spirit lets you, among other things, strike people as if they didn't have the defensive effects of their Devil's Fruit.**

**Q: But I thought only a few people had Haki of that power level… and Anwar couldn't use it before.**

**A: Well, now Joruus is amplifying Anwar's aggression. Since he's using Battle Meditation on only one person right now, it's far more powerful than usual, and effectively charging Anwar up with excess Force energy. This amplifies what I'm assuming is already a fairly strong level of fighting spirit. Thrown into a berserker rage, he's unconsciously throwing around a crude but powerful Haki. No, it doesn't entirely make sense, but I'm trying to make a bunch of different canons fit together, so to an extent, Force = Magic = Haki = Jutsu. To an extent.**

**Q: Why'd you call his vehicle the Blower Bike, when you've been calling it the Smog Hog?**

**A: Up until now, I didn't know that was the more literal translation. I just went with the dub name. Now it's got its own page on the One Piece Wiki, so I go with what it's called there.**

**Next Chapter: Even I don't know, but I'll have a behind-the-scenes chapter up soonish.  
**


	4. Battle Two

**Avatar: Well, here it is. I hope the result is worth the slight lateness.**

**I do not own Get Backers, One Piece, etc. or any of the characters mentioned.**

**A Winner Is Two: Where There's Smoke…**

**Second Battle**

**Uphill, Both Ways**

Smoker awoke with a start. There was some sort of annoying blaring noise… damn, his head hurt. His eyes snapped open when he realized it was some sort of alarm, and he bolted his head up. _Is the ship on fire? No, I'm not in a ship. Is the… room on fire? No, I'd detect any foreign smoke. Is there some sort of call to duty? A Buster Call? _He rubbed his face with his bare forearm and forced himself up to a sitting position on his bed. He had fallen asleep in his uniform pants, gloves, and boots, with his jacket and jutte tossed carelessly on the floor… what had happened?

His question was answered the instant he stood. His boot came down on a brown glass bottle and crushed it, scattering bits of glass across the floor. He looked down, and noted several other bottles – mostly brown, a few clear. _I was drinking. I hardly ever drink alone. Why?_ He looked back up to find the source of the alarm – it was coming from a bank of advanced screens and buttons. His current situation came rushing back. _Fuck. The contract with BORED._ Smoker crossed the room in four large steps, clutching his head in one hand as he swept up his jacket in the other. Three cigars were pulled from the jacket and lit with a BIC from his pants pocket – his favorite hangover cure.

As he pulled the jacket on, his eyes darted around, looking for the alarm source. There. A young man, definitely a contestant, unremarkable except for his spiky black hair and sunglasses – he was inside the outpost! Well, kind of. He was in the garage, inspecting Smoker's vehicle. The garage door was open – and even through his biting headache, Smoker remembered that he had locked it yesterday, so the padlock must have been picked or broken. _Damn that fucking door; if they're going to use keycards, couldn't they at least be consistent about it?_ He blinked. _Of course not. They can't even bring in personnel from just one or two sources. Alright, new problem._ He finally found the button to shut the alarm off. _Who's the kid?_

His transponder snail rang. "Yeah?"

"Stray cat in your garage," Jade said brightly.

"You don't have to tell me." Smoker rubbed his head. "Actually, do you know who it is? I can't get a good look at his face from this camera angle."

"It's Midou Ban. He's known as the 'Man with the Evil Eye' as well as the 'Genius of Battles'. Watch your back, and try not to make eye contact."

"Yeah, yeah." Smoker grabbed his jutte, keycard, and a few spare cigars, and marched through the door separating the garage and the main room of the outpost. He was immediately tackled by several dozen naked women of all shapes, colors, and sizes.

---

Ban smirked. Too easy. He had guessed by the vehicle that the outpost was inhabited; ever since he had heard the clink of glass breaking over the alarm behind that door, he was sure of it. It was only a matter of laying in wait so that he'd be the first thing the person on the side of the door saw (he could guess from the make of the vehicle that it was only one person – it would be hard to take a passenger on that green ATV). It was some large-ish guy with white (grey? Green?) hair, a ripped physique that he showed off under some semi-military clothes, a huge jutte on his back, and a mouthful of cigars. No, really. Three. What the hell was up with that? As the man stared blankly off into space, Ban approached and grabbed one of the cigars. "You'll thank me when you get cancer just a tiny bit slower." He noticed more cigars tucked into the jacket, and took all of those. He also took the man's weapon, and searched his other pants pockets. "Ooh, what have we here?" he pulled out a blue, credit-card-like piece of equipment. It was marked with, in black, the word 'BORED', and a shiny gold star.

_"Smoker. Are you there, Smoker?"_ A voice quietly jolted Ban out of his reverie. He looked down. It was coming from… a talking snail. A small snail sitting on a wristwatch. Ban looked at it, fascinated. "_We lost Ban on the monitors. He's probably concealed himself somewhere in the garage…Smoker?"_

Ban spotted a small button on the snail's shell and realized it was a two-way radio… he pressed the button, and the snail's eyes moved to look at him. Eerie. "You didn't lose me," he said in what he was fairly certain was a badass delivery. "You lost Smoker."

_"That took a long time," _the voice on the other end replied smoothly. The snail's mouth had even twisted into a smirk when it began speaking. _"You're the third contestant to take over an Enforcer's radio, you know, and the second to reply to me through it."_

"Aww, I wanted to be first." Ban risked a glance up at the aptly-named Smoker – he was still locked in the illusion, but the pained expression and sweat on his brow told Ban he was fighting it. _Shit, what if he's gay? I didn't account for that… but I guess that's just one more risk I had to take._ He grabbed the snail-watch as well and ran, jumping onto the seat of Smoker's ATV. It looked to be in better repair than his, and he could just take the machine gun with him.

_"I wouldn't get too excited," _the snail continued. _"At least, not if you haven't permanently dealt with Smoker._"

"Why not?" Ban revved the engine – or at least tried to. Nothing happened. _Shit._

_ "The other Contestant who contacted me had only locked the local Enforcer out of the building. Within five minutes, the building had been leveled and he was dead."_

"YOU!" Ban turned around to see his sixty seconds were up. Smoker had snapped out of it, and already leapt into the air, leaving a trail of what appeared to be thick fog.

_"Nice knowing you," _the voice said again before the snail clicked in what had to be a terminated connection. Ban wasted no further time in scrambling over the front of Smoker's bike and toward the garage door. Smoker's leap changed trajectory in the air somehow to follow him, and he had to put on a burst of speed to dodge the man's fist. It instead impacted just behind him with enough strength to crack the concrete, prompting Ban to redouble his speed in leaping into his own ATV.

"Nice trick there with the girls, 'Evil Eye', but I'm not so easily distracted!" the white-haired man shouted, smoke from the two remaining cigars pouring from his mouth as he stood. Ban decided he didn't have enough distance to try the machine gun, and instead hopped right into the driver's seat and made a break for it, heading past Smoker's bunker and further up the hill. Or at least, he started to. He had hardly floored it when he felt a hand close on the back of his shirt, pulling him off his ride and into the air. He caught a quick view of his ATV plowing into a tree, and twisted to get a better view of Smoker, but was immediately flung away, headfirst back into the rear bumper of his ATV.

Three thoughts ran through his head. One was _Ow,_ and it was set to repeat. The second was _Bastard broke my sunglasses._ The last was _That sucked. Let's try fighting back._ He got to his feet with remarkable speed for somebody who had just been thrown around headfirst, and eyed his opponent. He was walking out of his garage with an expression of extreme irritation, and was careful now not to lock eyes with Ban. He was abnormally far back considering where Ban had been grabbed and thrown. _Telekinesis, maybe? No, it felt like a physical hand grabbing my shirt._ Ban drew Smoker's jutte, and noted with extreme interest the quickly-hidden expression of alarm on Smoker's face. "So, uh, you're Smoker. I guess _my _reputation precedes me." A bit of blood trickled into Ban's eyes, and he hastily wiped it away.

"Only an idiot would take my job without checking out the Contestants," Smoker grumbled. "You have to the count of three to drop everything you took – Den Den Mushi, jutte, keycard, and definitely my cigars." Ban made a quick mental note – the credit card was a keycard, and the Den Den Mushi must have been the snail. "Do all that, and leave the ATV behind, and I'll let you off with a warning. One…" he was still approaching, which gave Ban an idea. He slipped off the snail and the cigars, and put them down, and pretended to search his pockets one-handed for the keycard. "Two…" Smoker was within ten feet of him now. Perfect.

Ban crouched as if to gently place the jutte on the ground, but instead rushed forward low and brought the weapon up in an uppercut. He was fast, but Smoker saw it coming and sidestepped the swing, curving smoothly into a spinning elbow that caught Ban in the back and staggered him. He felt himself grappled again, this time with fingers closing around his neck, and was hurled more or less straight up. He found himself staring at Smoker far below him, standing out in the clear area the bunker provided within the pine trees. His right arm also appeared to be giving off more smoke than his cigars by a factor of ten. "Wrong move," Smoker called. "I've got a moral crisis and a whiskey hangover to shrug off, and smacking punks into submission is my favorite workout!"

Smoker's fist was then launched towards him as if on a spring – except it was, instead, a plume of smoke retaining its shape. Ban belatedly realized this was what gave Smoker his insane grab range as the fist – definitely solid – drove itself into his stomach, carrying him even higher. Gritting his teeth, Ban grabbed the wrist with one hand and began pounding on the fingers with the jutte's handle. He got in one blow before the fist dissolved into smoke as well, leaving him about twenty meters in the air with no support. "Oh, crap," Ban moaned as he began to fall.

To his surprise, Smoker crouched down and leapt up to his level. "Hey, genius! Let's see you calculate how much more freely I can move in the air compared to you!" He tried to juggle Ban with a knee strike as he reached Ban's altitude, but the urchin-haired fighter blocked with the jutte. He was still launched back into the air a bit, giving him a good measure of Smoker's strength, but recovered quickly and jabbed the tip of the jutte into Smoker's chest, just under his collar bone. Smoker, surprisingly, stiffened and immediately began to fall. Ban quickly put two and two together and took one last swing at Smoker with the jutte, but there was already too much air between them.

Smoker recovered with a growl just before he hit the ground, and managed to twist and land on his forearm. Recovering quickly, he pounced toward Ban again. "Bring it!" Ban called, exhilarated by his new advantage. However, Smoker lashed out with both fists, curving them to strike Ban on each side. Ban lashed out to block Smoker's right with his jutte, and brought up a knee to block the left. However, the jutte didn't seem to have any effect this time, and Smoker in fact grabbed it by the middle with his right hand and pulled Ban toward him. Ban grimaced and shifted his jutte to his left hand, pulling back his right. Smoker likewise pulled his left hand back for what appeared to be a vicious haymaker. "Snake… Bite!" Ban attacked first when they clashed, despite Smoker's superior reach (even when his arms were solid), and slammed his open hand right into Smoker's exposed chest.

His fingers pierced only smoke – the Enforcer dissolved on contact, although the rest of him was still very clearly real. Ban grimaced and pushed off from the jutte with his free hand, hoping to get away in time. No such luck; Smoker's fist launched off his evaporating arm and drove itself into Ban's face before he could block. "My turn! White Meteor!"

---

Smoker grinned a bit as his fist kept going, driving Ban all the way to ground level. He impacted against a boulder with a satisfying _thud_, and Smoker reeled his fist in. "Outstanding." Shifting his jutte back into a proper grip, Smoker slowed his descent by dissolving his legs, then reformed them to land on his feet. He shook his head. "Hope you've had enough, punk, because I sure have." Brushing his hair back, Smoker began to turn around, before remembering he still needed his keycard back.

Just as he turned around again, Ban burst from his impact site with a shout, his face wild-eyed and covered in blood. He had a rock in each hand, and tossed them each. One hit Smoker's shoulder, and the other hit his head, but he had time to 'ghost' through both of them. By the time his eyes reformed, though, Ban was almost right on top of him. "Snake…" he shot his right hand forward, and Smoker phased through it again, but Ban grinned – a feint?. "KILL!" his left hand shot out again, and grabbed the jutte below the tip, trying to pull it away from Smoker. Thinking quickly, Smoker put his other hand on the point where the weapon's tines met and leapt backwards as hard as he could.

The air filled with the shriek of metal being torn, and Smoker found himself flat on his back. He rolled backwards to his feet, and noticed Ban beginning to charge forward again, the last ten inches of the jutte's main tine clenched in his left hand. The seastone tip glinted above his thumb. "White Drill!" Smoker launched his left hand at Ban, but added a rapid rotation to it. Ban tried to push the strike aside with his forearm and got a nasty friction burn for his effort before it clipped his ear and the back of his skull, sending him sprawling. "Give it up, kid, you know you can't fight what you can't touch." Smoker pulled his arm back.

"Oh, you think so?" Ban pulled his arm up, grinning. "I figured out why your weapon only sometimes worked against you. It's the tip – it's made of something different. I get this weird tingle from it. Well, I've got the only important part."

"You're as good as they say," Smoker grunted. "So you've got the Seastone – you think that makes you hot shit? You're just another pirate."

Ban blinked. "What the fuck? Why would you say that? I'm not a pirate. I'm not any kind of criminal, unless being homeless is a crime these days."

Smoker almost dropped his cigars. "What?" he responded flatly.

"I'm the 'B' in 'GetBackers' – you lose something, we'll retrieve it, whatever it is."

"You're a delivery man."

"If you want to call it that, okay." Ban took the lull in the fighting to catch his breath and wipe more blood out of his face.

"God…DAMMIT!" Smoker smacked himself in the face. _Another innocent. What the hell have I gotten myself into?_ "Shit… look, I need to talk to my superior officer about this. Just give me back my stuff and we'll call the whole thing off."

"Hell no!" Ban yelled. "You just pounded me halfway through the mountain! I finally figure out your weakness, and you want to call it a day? AND you still expect me to hand over the one thing that hurts you? What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

Before Smoker could try to explain further, Ban launched himself forward and drove the jutte tip into Smoker's gut, stunning him. He followed up with a knee to Smoker's wrist, disarming him of the rest of the weapon, and slugged Smoker with his right hand. The Commodore stumbled back, and Ban pressed his assault, striking Smoker with another series of left-right-left-right blows, finally sending him down on his knees. "You can't just move through my attacks at all when this stuff affects you, huh? He pressed the tip to the side of Smoker's head, and it was all Smoker could do not to fall flat on his face. "This is the end, Mr. Enforcer. _Now, by my right hand, until the end of this cursed fate, I shall be the one to embody Asclepius as he descends from the high heavens. Now, I shall state my request: attack with-"_

Finally, Smoker had had enough. With all his remaining strength, he whipped his right arm up and caught the Seastone tip of the weapon in the crook of his elbow. As he had hoped, his thick clothing somewhat muffled its effects. "Let's keep attack names to six words or less, bub!" He fell backwards, dodging Ban's Snake Bite and pulling the metal rod from his hand, and rolled clear of it.

Ban made a grab for the jutte tip, but Smoker was feeling better already, and he drove his heel into Ban's hip, knocking him over onto his back. Using his Moku Moku abilities to float up onto his feet, Smoker caught Ban with a low left hook as he made another grab for the Seastone. Ban got a hold of the weapon piece but stumbled, and Smoker quickly chained the hook into a series of vicious punches. "Your – luck's – run – out!" Smoker cried, emphasizing each word with a strike. The last hit was a rolling hammer blow that spun Ban around, and Smoker grabbed him by the right wrist from behind. He brought his left boot into Ban's shoulder and planted the smaller man face-first into the ground, kneeling down on him so as not to let go of his wrist. "White Cracker!" Smoker's elbow met Ban's forearm with bonecrushing force. The resulting snaps had a note of finality to them. "There…" Smoker got up, brushing himself off. "I don't want to kill you, but I can't let you keep the keycard."

He leaned down and pulled the keycard from Ban's pocket. As soon as he had it, Ban rolled over and slammed the tip of the jutte into Smoker's mouth, bypassing his teeth by way of the partially-open jaw Smoker always sported to hold onto his cigars, and crammed it halfway down his throat. "Choke on this!" As Smoker doubled over to choke on it as directed, Ban staggered off, clutching his right arm.

Smoker finally managed to cough it up, although both his remaining cigars wound up smeared with dirt in the process. "Hey! Get back here!" He chased Ban back toward his outpost, pocketing the keycard and leaving the discarded pieces of his weapon. "Where do you think you're going?" He pulled back to use his smoke powers to grab Ban, only for Ban to turn on his heel. Smoker was too fatigued from the fight to remember the golden rule for fighting Ban – no eye contact. The next thing he knew, he was being tackled by nearly a hundred naked men of all shapes, colors, and sizes. The whole experience made him regret fighting it so hard the first time.

---

Ban grinned through the pain at the fate he had left that Enforcer too. He may have yet been able to salvage the battle, but it wasn't worth the risk. Reaching his ATV, he kicked it back away from the tree. It looked a bit banged up, but mostly alright. The keys were still in it, so he gunned it. He was still getting used to driving with only his left hand when he reached Smoker, still caught in the Jagan, and accidentally rammed him. Improbably, this worked, knocking Smoker straight over Ban, although it dented the front of the ATV further. "I really should have just hit him in the back of the head the first time I caught him," Ban groaned. Hearing an angry yell, Ban looked in the rearview mirror to see Smoker jumping to his feet in the distance – apparently, being hit with a small car wasn't enough to actually hurt him much.

Filled with a new determination, Ban pressed onward in his current direction – uphill. This seemed to be a good idea for two reasons: first, it was far from Smoker, and second, the trees were thinning out, which was important until his left-armed steering improved. His speedometer told him he was going at about 50 kmph, which wasn't bad considering it was uphill.

"Ban!" Hearing his name, the GetBacker turned back to the mirror and saw Smoker closing in from behind. He was on his green ATV, which was working much better than it did for Ban – in fact, he was gaining. Soon, the reason became apparent – Smoker's ATV ran off his ability. His feet had turned to that same white smoke, and so had the exhaust from the vehicle. Ban gritted his teeth and continued upward.

Soon the trees were entirely gone, and snow covered the ground. It was untouched by ATV tracks – at least, until Ban and Smoker crossed it. Visibility was getting poor as well, for Ban. The area seemed wreathed in smoke – not the Enforcer's white smoke, but a dark smoke with a foul, sulfurous odor. Ban pressed on, wondering how far the mountain continued. The air was thinning out a bit, and combined with the smoke it was enough to make breathing difficult. "What the hell is up here?!" he heard himself exclaim.

"Seriously, punk, turn back!" Smoker called, but Ban ignored him and plunged forward. The foul smoke got thicker, and the snow on the ground darkened, eventually reaching dark grey before it disappeared entirely. It had been growing colder for most of his desperate ride, but now it was growing hotter again.

Suddenly, the ground was gone. Ban gasped as the ATV fell away from him – the air all around was full of smoke, and he started to choke. Everything was grey-black, except for an evil red glow below him. Ban started to fall, and he thought he saw dark buildings looming up from the glow, and he was sure it was the beginning of a descent straight into Hell-

And then a now-familiar hand closed around his neck and jerked him up. Ban watched his ATV fall away into the choking vapors before he was pulled back up, and suddenly he was above solid ground again and his heart seemed to resume beating. He found himself held a few feet off the ground, next to Smoker. "You saved my life," Ban gasped.

"I'm just trying to break even," Smoker grunted. "White Lullaby!" his smoke suddenly formed an almost-solid mask over Ban's mouth, and Ban began to thrash and panic. However, the volcanic gasses and thin mountain air had already left him oxygen-starved, and it didn't take long for him to pass out.

---

Smoker heaved Ban roughly onto the back of the Smog Hog and made a slow 180. He'd deposit Ban somewhere safe at the bottom of the mountain – well, safe except for having a broken arm in a survival tournament. No doubt the Genius of Battle would overcome that challenge as well, but hopefully he'd wise up about challenging Enforcers. _Even if he doesn't, he won't get another chance with me._

**End of Chapter**

**Smoker's thick clothing helps against Seastone because that Seastone weapon hanging on his back is basically the only reason he wears thick clothes at all – as an insulator.**

**I don't interpret Smoker as being gay, but it was fun having Ban come to that conclusion because Smoker prioritizes catching perps over a sudden and suspicious harem. It would have worked on most guys, but not ones like Smoker.**

**Whoops, I just realized I spared Ban with similar injuries to how I spared Raidou. Oh well, with Ban the arm I chose matters more. And Ban will heal, eventually, because Smoker's more merciful.**


	5. Conclusion

**Avatar: I do not own Smoker, Tashigi, or any other character mentioned here. I only own the contents of this story.**

**A Winner Is Two: Where There's Smoke…**

**Conclusion**

**Retirement**

"It's been pretty quiet these past few days," Tashigi sighed, absentmindedly polishing her sword for what had to be the fifth time today. She got up from her perch on the ship's railing, stretched, and then sat down again.

"Is it any wonder?" a blonde marine replied, swabbing the deck. "We're locked up in some crazy HQ without the Commodore, with nothing to do but occasionally move some boxes, and keep the ship clean. And there's no point to the boxes."

"I'm sure there's a point to the boxes," Tashigi said.

"The boxes were empty!" another marine complained. "I saw!"

"Hey, don't talk like that to the Officer!" the first marine shouted back. The second hung his head in shame.

Tashigi sighed. "There aren't even as many of the other Enforcers around to color things. Travis and Joruus were annoying, but they were changes of pace. They're both out and about… and Jade and Shadow have both been avoiding people lately."

"Shadow's a weird one," the first marine grumbled. "I don't trust him. What exactly _is_ he?"

"Whaddya mean?" the second one asked. "It's gotta be a Zoan-type Devil's Fruit."

"All the Devil's Fruit users I know wear pants," the first one shot back. Tashigi stifled a laugh.

"What Devil's Fruit users do you know besides me?" Tashigi turned around just in time to see Smoker swing himself over the railing, his boots audibly thudding against the deck. A long, cylindrical bag was draped diagonally across his back.

"Smoker!" Tashigi was startled, but not unhappy. The other Marines on deck seemed pleased, too, judging from their shouts of "Commodore! The Commodore's back!"

Smoker didn't look overly thrilled, though. His eyes, when they were visible between the smoke from his cigars, were shadowed from fatigue and a bit haunted-looking. They scanned the crew warily before coming to rest on Tashigi's face. "Hang on, I brought something," he said. He swung the bag over his shoulder and slammed it down on the deck, unzipping it hastily.

Tashigi blinked when he revealed a colorfully-sheathed greatsword from the bag, gingerly gripping it by the guard as he laid it out on the floor. "Where'd you get this, Smoker?"

"One of the contestants… he came after me." Tashigi could tell this wasn't the whole story. Smoker was a piss-poor liar, mostly because he preferred to say exactly what was on his mind. "It's a nice sword, so I thought you'd be interested. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste out in the jungle, but there's something fishy about it… I don't think you should touch the handle without gloves."

"You bet there's something fishy about this blade." Tashigi pulled up her glasses and inspected the sheathe, guard, and pommel carefully. "It's the Sandy Broadsword, Anwar."

"The contestant called himself Anwar," Smoker said with a frown.

Smoker's shadow of a flinch after using the past tense of "called" clued Tashigi in on what had happened, but she ignored it for the moment. "I'm not surprised. This sword's really cursed – it's supposed to render the heart of its wielder blank. You're lucky you didn't try and draw it from the scabbard; you could've gotten mindwiped yourself."

"Good to know." Tashigi noticed that Smoker had pulled something else from the bag; it was his jutte, but it had been torn in two.

"What happened?"

"Another contestant," Smoker said. "Listen, Tashigi, I need you to have the troops start packing up. We're leaving tomorrow at sunrise."

"What?! Is the tournament over?"

"It is for us."

"You're bailing on this?"

"I'll take all the heat for leaving. You and the crew will be fine; it's me HQ hates and they'll demote me back down to Captain at worst."

"Smoker, this isn't like you."

"Are you questioning my decisions?" Tashigi clammed up very quickly. "This isn't some kind of sick game with pirates and prisoners, Tashigi. This is some kind of sick game with real people. I fought two people – killed one accidentally, Tashigi! – and neither was a criminal!"

"They could have been lying to you," Tashigi said meekly.

Smoker shook his head vigorously. "I'm sick of us damning ourselves by association here. It's time I went and talked to the guys in charge." He had emptied out the rest of the contents of his bag by now – some spare pants, a spare jacket, some dried food and a spare box of cigars – and leapt off the boat. "I'll be in touch via Den Den Mushi if there's any change of plans. Otherwise, we leave at dawn."

Tashigi sighed and checked the large digital clock mounted on the cavern wall. 4:07 PM. "You heard the Commodore," she said. "Start getting us ready to sail. I'll go fetch the rest of the crew."

"So we're really leaving, then?"

"I'm not sure, yet," Tashigi confessed. "He might still be convinced to stay. But we should start packing all the same – if we do leave, he won't tolerate lateness."

---

Ofdensen was on the phone when Smoker kicked the door to his office open. As if he had been fired out of a cannon, the man sprung out of his seat and over the desk, and landed in a slight crouch with his hand poised to strike at Smoker's throat. Smoker, for his part, had begun to dissipate the moment Ofdensen got within an arm's reach of him. "Oh, it's just, ah, you, Smoker. Please knock when the door is closed." The dropped phone was droning a repeated and eerily calm "hello?", and Ofdensen quickly returned to his desk and picked it up. "Hello… I'm fine… no, it was the door… I'll have to call you right back." He hung up. "Since you're here, I need you to go deal with Robotnik. He stole Mystique's base and keycard, and neither she nor Shadow seem to be able to deal with the problem."

"Have Travis deal with it, or that crazy old man," Smoker said. "I'm-"

"They're both dead, Smoker."

Smoker felt his blood go a bit cold. "What?"

"Travis was double-teamed by two Contestants and killed the day before your fight with Ban. Joruus let his hubris get the better of him and was killed mere hours ago. Actually, this is yours now." Ofdensen planted a backpack on the table.

"What's this?"

"It's Travis's belongings. He had no next-of-kin, no friends, no surviving family except a twin brother with no listed address or telephone… you're the person he interacted with most here, and he said he "owed you one", didn't he? So, uh, here's his stuff."

Smoker unzipped it. Spare clothes that certainly wouldn't fit him (not even the single glove), hair gel, toothbrush, a black metal rod inscribed with the text "Blood Berry", some technology he had no idea how to use, a cat collar, and a three-inch stack of pornographic cartoon books. "I don't need it," he sighed, pushing it back across the table.

Ofdensen put it in a drawer on his desk. "Now, I'm going to need you, Incredible, and Kakashi to recover all lost Gold-class keycards on the island while Jade, Jiraiya, and Shadow remain here at headquarters. A dangerous individual named Deadpool has somehow managed to sneak onto the island, and –"

"I quit."

"And, and… excuse me?"

"I don't know what sick kind of sport you're playing, Ofdensen, but I finally figured out that you've been lying to me about it. You've been lying to Incredible, too, and I'm guessing everybody else as well – just a different lie for each of us, isn't it?!" Smoker tossed his keycard down on the desk. "I've had it up to fucking here with you guys. Send whatever kind of recommendation you want back to HQ – I don't give a fuck anymore. I'm taking my crew, and I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

Ofdensen sighed, and pulled a bottle of brandy and two snifters from another drawer on his desk. "Brandy?"

"No, fuck you," Smoker grumbled. The 'fuck you' was in fact only implied, but it was still quite obvious.

Ofdensen poured him some anyway, and poured some for himself, which he took a large sip from. "You're absolutely right, Smoker. This whole thing has been a web of lies, and not an easy one to keep up. We are genuinely in the wrong here, and it's about time one of you called us out on it. _However…_ there is a much greater threat on this island now, and we're going to need your help with it. All I ask is this – take a walk for a couple of hours. Cool off. Think things over. Talk to me again tonight – Solidus and I will be in the VIP mess hall at 7:00 for dinner. If you still want to quit, I'll lower the shields so you can leave in the morning. Or you can stay… and I'll tell you everything. Tashigi too." Ofdensen passed the keycard back across the table. "Think about it."

Smoker downed the brandy all at once, pocketed the keycard, and squinted at the BORED member for a good long minute. "Alright." He turned on his heel and marched out, slamming the door shut.

Ofdensen finished his brandy and put that away as well, noting with annoyance that the door was now hanging off one hinge. This wouldn't do at all. He picked the phone back up and hit 'redial'. "Kirei, is the main control panel up yet? We have a situation."

---

Ofdensen had told Smoker to cool off, so he had gone to the coolest part of the mountain – below the treeline, where volcanic smoke began to seriously impede the growth of living things, but above the elevation where deciduous trees gave way to conifers. He sat cross-legged on a carpet of pine needles in various stages of decay and considered his options.

It normally wouldn't have taken him long to reach a conclusion, but he got the feeling he was being watched. "I know you're there," he said. He actually wouldn't have bet on it, but if nobody was there, than it wouldn't matter anyway, would it?

His gut feeling proved correct – a figure dropped from the trees. He was wearing a red and black bodysuit that covered him entirely, and even covered his eyes with white lenses of some sort. "You're pretty good," he said playfully.

"What are you supposed to be?" Smoker growled. He felt half-naked without his jutte, but he had his cigars. That was something.

"People call me Deadpool."

Smoker's eyes flashed. The man Ofdensen said was dangerous! Then again, Ofdensen was a liar, as were Solidus and Sakyo. Smoker remained tense, but didn't make a move. "Why do they call you that?"

"I dunno, some sort of swimming reference. Plus that's what I write on my nametags, checks, mailbox, and public restrooms, and I introduce myself as Deadpool. Can I have a cigar?"

"No."

"Okay. You wouldn't wanna see me without my mask anyway. Whatcha doin' out here, dude? Do they not allow smoking indoors here?"

"Don't call me 'dude'," Smoker said, blowing twin streams of smoke from his nostrils. He inhaled, and then answered genuinely. "I'm trying to decide whether to quit my job or not."

"Well, my dad always used to say – when he wasn't shooting stray dogs and old people, that is – he always used to say, 'Pool… (he called me Pool back then, back when I was a wee Deadite)…' uh, where was I going with this?" Smoker opened his mouth to respond, but Deadpool pressed onward. "Oh yeah. He said, 'Pool, dying is easy. Quitting is hard.' No, wait, he said 'Quitting is easy. Keeping at it is hard.' Then he died of emphysema. What I'm trying to say is it's a filthy habit, Mister Dude."

"Sometimes, quitting _is_ hard," Smoker said quietly. Then, louder, "call me Commodore."

"Alright, Commodore Mister Dude. You know, you remind me of my friend Wolverine. He also smokes cigars, occasionally gets drunk, always gets angry, has superpowers, goes out whoring, fought in World War II, smells like wet dog, has black hair in a weird shape…" (Deadpool was counting on his fingers now) "…lives forever, trained as a samurai, and starred in four hit movies." Smoker was staring at him incredulously. Deadpool put his eleventh finger away. "What?"

"None of those fit me at all except the first three… or four… how do you know I have powers anyway?"

"Well… uh…" Deadpool leaned down really close. "Wanna fight?"

"No!" Smoker backhanded Deadpool away and sent him sprawling. "Normally, yes, I'd beat you like a drum, but I'm not in the mood." He rubbed his forehead and glared. "Don't you have something you should be doing?"

"Oh, right! Yeah! Later, Commodore Mister Chaser Dude!" Deadpool ran off into the trees.

"Huh… he really was nuts. I guess Ofdensen was telling the truth there… but he didn't seem all that dangerous."

---

As soon as Deadpool was sure he was well out of earshot, he ducked behind a tree and pulled out his communicator. "He didn't attempt to capture me at all," Deadpool said in a considerably more sultry voice than usual.

"_Then he's failed his last test,"_ Solidus replied solemnly.

By now, Deadpool's mask had completely faded into Mystique's blue skin. "You're sure I'll get Smoker's gold card for this?"

"_Absolutely."_

"Good. I don't want to imitate Deadpool again. It makes my head hurt. Over and out." Mystique closed her communicator, looked up, and froze dead away. Deadpool – the real McCoy – stood right in front of her. "Shit."

"Next time, remember that I'm not wearing any pants," the mercenary deadpanned. "You were pretty good, though." Then he gave an eye-smile through his mask similar to one Kakashi would give, flashed her the 'peace' sign, and vanished with a teleport noise that was distinctly not 'bamf'.

---

When Kirei Kotomine checked in at Metropolis's brand-new fusion power plant, no eyebrows were raised. He was an investor backed by some church or another, and Lex Luthor had arrived in his limo ten minutes ago, so he was probably looking for additional monetary backing on some project. At best, it would revolutionize medicine or something; at worst, it would just be another failed attempt to kill Superman.

They met up near the elevator on the ground floor, and Lex excused himself to use the bathroom. When he came out, a tanned man in an orange suit was behind him. "Why do I have to be the one to do this?" he grumbled, pocketing a red-and-white marble. "Just because my business affairs this afternoon were illegitimate doesn't mean they were any less urgent."

"Yes, but you own three of a creature that puts the teleportation technology of every other member of our organization to shame," Lex replied curtly. "This should take less than an hour anyway." He led them into the elevator and moved to the control panel, which listed floors from B2 to 5. He pulled out a BOARD platinum keycard and slid it into an unmarked slot, then pressed the button for floor 4. The ride was very smooth and quick, but an observant passenger would notice it was decidedly downward. "Please excuse the mess. This wing is new."

This new level was very clean and sterile, well-lit and polished white. However, there were still missing panels in the walls, doors being painted by small robots, and the like. Luthor led the way down the hallway for some distance, stopping at the final left. He led them into a room marked with what appeared to be an oak set of double doors, but had the weight of something else entirely. The room inside was nearly identical to the Pinnacle room on Grand Cross Isle, only the walls were thick with maps, charts, graphs, and a whiteboard. The information contained on them detailed militaries, espionage agencies, trade routes, and myriad other subjects. They were all but indecipherable. "You didn't want to build this room in Lexcorp?" Kirei asked.

"Why associate this more with my other affairs than I have to? Besides, whatever else the Lexcorp tower is, it's not appropriate as the nerve core for BORED." He strode past the table to a control panel, muttering under his breath about the building's aerodynamics. Kirei and Giovanni joined him, and each slid their keycards into one of three slots.

The machine hummed to life, and a large screen on top flashed "Lotus Eater" before switching to a display of the Earth. "Kirei, operate the joystick and zoom lens. Giovanni, tell me if any of those readings spike…"

---

In high orbit over the planet, Earth's largest flower began to bloom.

It was a large, squat rod, made of a dark grey metal that was hardly visible against the blackness of space. Both ends were pointed, and the end pointing toward deep space was longer and wider.

Suddenly, the narrow end was ablaze with blue and red winking lights as Lex's signal beamed up to it. Shuddering, the wide end began to peel itself like an onion, slowly unfolding, revealing its true shape. Inside, the wide end's segments were mirrored solar panels, each glowing richly as they absorbed the sun's rays. Fully unfolded, the satellite resembled nothing so much as an elegant lotus flower, each "petal" a curved triangular solar panel thirty feet in length. Together, each inclining for maximum sun exposure, they quickly gathered a massive dose of solar energy and funneled it into the center of the machine.

Two of a ring of small jets set around the satellite's "stem" engaged, tilting the chassis ever so slightly before their two opposite numbers kicked in to stop the rotation. The narrow tip of the satellite now pointed exactly at a specific location on Grand Cross Isle. It lit up white as components spinning deep within the satellite began to work themselves into a frenzy. Within a few seconds, a massive, shining stream of white energy cascaded toward Earth like a meteor.

---

Smoker was almost ready to get up and give up. There was no way he could reconcile working with deceitful bastards like BORED – even the relatively reasonable ones like Ofdensen and occasionally Solidus. It was time to bring back the old Smoker – the one who had no problem telling superiors to eat shit so he could go pursue justice his way. Snapping back to reality, he noticed a redheaded woman with a very unusual skin tone slinking into his line of sight, at a moderate distance. He tensed to fight yet again, but then recognized her – Mystique, one of the other Enforcers – and relaxed a hair. "What're you doing here? Don't tell me they've sent you do get diplomatic with me?"

Mystique shrugged. "I was told I'd get a new keycard to replace the one I'd lost if I came here and followed the instructions."

Smoker tensed again. "I can't believe this… they're pitting two of _us_ against each other?!"

She shook her head. "My instructions were just to watch for anything 'strange'." Smoker noticed a few Klokateers coming out of the forest behind her. "Although I didn't expect to have backup, so that already qualifies."

Smoker sighed and got up. "You won't have to wait long; I'm heading back to HQ." He was rubbing the back of his neck when he felt his ears pop painfully. "What was that?"

"The force field is down," Mystique murmured. "I'm calling them." She raised her walkie-talkie, but a Klokateer waved her down. "Since when is this your call?"

"Do you have a keycard that outranks mine?" the Klokateer replied curtly. Mystique glared but lowered the device, then blinked.

Smoker found himself blinking, too. It had just gone from being nearly sundown to noon in terms of ambient light. He looked up, and found a column of light fast approaching. "Well, shit."

---

Mystique recoiled and covered her eyes as a fifteen-foot-wide beam of white light struck the spot where Smoker was standing. There was no impact, no scream. There was only a blinding light, an ominous crackle accompanied with a gentle but unnerving tug at the base of her consciousness, and a rush of hot wind. And then, there was nothing. Smoker's location had been irrevocably purged. The ground was still there, but it was dead, hard and grey, and sprinkled with dust. All the grass and bushes were gone, as was the Enforcer.

"Laser cannon deth sentence…" one of the Klokateers remarked. Although they were normally the most stoic of the henchmen at BORED, they seemed rather impressed by the display of sheer power. One had even been brought to tears.

Mystique shuddered, and took a tentative step toward the desolation. Her walkie-talkie crackled to life, and she gripped it like a life preserver before remembering what it was. "Hello?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.

"_Mystique. Anything unusual to report?"_ Solidus asked. He sounded… almost jovial.

"The shield shorted out, and a stream of blinding light came and annihilated Commodore Smoker."

"_Ah, I see. Well, that would have vaporized all organic matter on him, but I imagine his keycard remained undamaged. Recover it before anybody else can, and I'll entrust it to you for safekeeping."_

"…I understand, sir. Over and out." The message was clear – Mystique was being rewarded for sticking with it, but they wanted her to know what would have happened had she chosen to openly go rogue.

---

Solidus sighed and exited the elevator, the boots of his exosuit clacking loudly against the floor. He didn't enjoy losing Smoker, but the man was a loose cannon, and a dangerously inspirational one at that. He had to be sacrificed to bring the remainder of the Enforcers back into line. "Warrant Officer Tashigi!" Solidus called.

Tashigi was directing some crates being loaded onto the ship. "Hmm?" She turned around. "Smoker?"

Solidus coughed nervously. "No, dear."

"Oh! I'm sorry!" She put on the red-framed glasses she was so well-known for. "Oh, hello, sir."

"Officer Tashigi, I have grave news. Smoker… has been killed in action." The look on her face was fascinating, but even Solidus's petrified heart cracked a bit looking at it.

Tashigi seemed to try to say several things, but nothing came out. Finally, in a small but hard voice she said, "are you sure?"

"Quite. He was blindsided by a dirty trick – he didn't get a chance to use his powers – and thrown into the waves. We had nobody out there who could respond fast enough." He looked away, appearing to blink back tears. "We will make every attempt to find you the body, but I can't guarantee anything. Be comforted that he died honorably, as a soldier."

"What… what can I do to help with the situation?" Tashigi asked faintly.

Solidus affixed her with his remaining eye. "The killer still runs free on the island. He's a very dangerous man named Deadpool, armed with several swords and likely several firearms, masked in red and black, blessed with the ability to heal any wound, and most of all, completely insane. If you so desire, we will equip you to help hunt him down. Otherwise, you and your men may continue home at your earliest convenience."

She swallowed. She was so young and inexperienced, not like her superior officer. Solidus seriously doubted she could capture Deadpool even if he could convince her to try. But if she did, it would be a nice surprise, and if she died, it would be that much less to worry about. "Give me time to think about it. I'll get back to you in a couple of hours."

"Of course. It's up to you to decide what is right." Solidus noticed a vibrating in his pocket, and turned back towards the elevator as he checked the cell phone. It had rather a small address book, considering it could only make calls within the island; right now, it was displaying "MYSTIQUE." He made sure the elevator doors had shut before answering. "You've found his keycard?"

"_No."_

"NO?!" Solidus punched a dent into the elevator doors – solid steel – before he was able to control himself. "What do you mean, 'no'?!" he hissed.

"_It's not here. You're sure it wouldn't be vaporized?"_

"Quite! The Lotus Eater was refined so it doesn't destroy inorganic matter anymore –" He realized who he was talking to, and took a deep breath, calming his heart. "Look, just keep searching. YOU are not going to be getting any other, so the responsibility falls to you to find it."

"_Ugh… I'll keep searching. Maybe the resulting wind blew it off somewhere."_

"You do that. Over and out." Solidus found himself swallowing a hard lump.

---

"So, the Lotus Eater, it's called. And it destroys organic matter. Fascinating." Jade looked sidelong at the spear leaning against the wall. He had a strong hunch that he'd get to use it soon.

**End of Chapter**

**I apologize for all of the different ways Deadpool's 'eleventh finger' bit can be taken. Keep in mind he's being "played" by a shapeshifter, and there were eleven things on the list he rattled off.**

**Well, it's been revealed. The Lotus Eater here has nothing to do with the trope Lotus Eater Machine, but is in fact a large satellite death ray. But is it merely a beam that destroys organic matter (well, **_**now **_**it only destroys organic matter – they don't want to go cutting any more mountains in half), or is there more to it? Stay tuned!**

**Giovanni doesn't canonically have anything in the Abra evolution chain, but I figure he either has one of his own or obtained one from another Team Rocket member for the express purpose of teleporting.  
**

**Did Smoker die? Yes, unless you want him to survive. You see, Smoker is now up for adoption by any author as A ROGUE ENFORCER ONLY. He has a gold keycard already; his jutte's gone, but he's still got all his powers and a few cigars. If nobody adopts him before the end of the tournament, though, he's considered to have died a storyline death. Similarly, Tashigi will now be up for adoption as an Enforcer, and if she's taken, it means she's taken Solidus up on his offer.  
**


End file.
